It had been years since I'd been home, but I still knew where everything was. One advantage of having parents that didn't care is that you could vanish and run all over town and nobody cared. Back when I was a child, I often stayed at Dave's house. Thinking about it, I was willing to put up with his bullying because his parents fed me. His older brothers were just as bad as him, one working at the mill and the other a trucker, but they usually ignored us.
I'd worry about him if he got in my way.
I saw cherries go by on the road and knew that the cops and probably an ambulance was on the way to the honky-tonk to pick up the pieces I'd left behind.
Let them.
I'd visit the hospital later. I'd stop by, see Aine, and decide if I wanted to finish it.
I climbed over the short fence, stopping and staring at the house, my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. Thunder rolled in the distance, lightning still playing in the clouds even though it was snowing. My hand hurt where the tooth had broken off and lodged between my knuckles, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.
I stepped up onto the back patio, the frozen slush crunching under my foot. The back porch light was off, but the light from the nearly full moon, even through the clouds, was enough to see clearly by.
I rapped on the glass, nice and loud. Three spaced knocks.
A dog barked, not to far away. Thunder rolled as the snow picked up, swirling around me.
I knocked again. Once, twice, three times.
I heard the lock click and pulled my other hand from the pocket of my jacket. The curtain moved, but whoever it was, they were lit up by the kitchen lights, making the glass door reflective. I knew it didn't show much but a dark figure.
It was a man, about six two, but thin, like something had eroded most of him away. Sunken, sallow cheeks, dark glittering eyes, bad acne, and yellowish complexion.
He yanked open the glass door, opening his mouth to say something.
"You Jack?" I asked.
He blinked. "Who's ask..." he started to asked. The stench of whiskey rolled over me.
Good enough for me.
He squawked when I short punched him in the throat, grabbed him by the shirt when his hands when to his throat, and yanked him outside with me. He went by me, tripping on the edge of the sliding glass door and landing on his hands and knees in the slush.
I closed the door before turning around.
Jack was still on his hands and knees when I stepped forward and drove the toe of my combat boot squarely into his crotch, following through like I was going for a field goal. He went face first into the slush with a choking groan of pain. I stepped forward and grabbed the back of his shirt, lifting him up, and throwing him on the table. I kneed him in the crotch again for good measure, then rolled him onto his back.
"You are Jack Timberly," I said, thunder rumbling in the distance. He gagged, choking on vomit. I reached down, wrapped one hand around his throat, and squeezed. "I'm here to kill you."
He began gagging, slapping at my forearm, clawing at the denim. His eyes went bloodshot and his face turned dark in the moonlight. I counted to twelve, then released his throat.
"The rock," I said, looking down at him. He was gagging, choking on the vomit I'd kept him from throwing up.
"Who, who are..." he started.
I reached back down, sinking my fingers into his throat, and squeezing again. I counted to ten, listening to the wind and the thunder, then let him go. It took a few seconds for the pale spots on his neck to get blood again.
"The rock," I stated again.
He rolled on his side, gagging and coughing up whiskey reeking vomit, his hands going back to his throat. I reached down, putting my palm against the side of his head, and pushing hard. I felt a couple of vertebrae shift, popping loud enough to hear over the thunder.
I gave him a few seconds to clear his bruised windpipe and get air into his lungs, staring down at him, my hand against his face. He let go of his throat, grabbing the edge of the table as if to prevent me from throwing him off the table.
I could see his pulse hammering on the side of his neck.
"I don't know," he tried.
I rolled him back on his back, reaching down and wrapping my hand around his neck again. I squeezed as lightning flashed in the clouds, and kept the pressure up till I heard the thunder. That's when I let him go, letting him cough and choke. All he did was claw at my arm and kick at the table I had him pinned on.
"The rock," I tried again.
"You can't do this," he gagged.
"The rock," I said, putting pressure on his neck again.
He struggled again and I waited till his eyes rolled back. He'd only be out for a few minutes, so I hurried, scooping up slush and dumping it onto his chest.
By the time his eyes opened he was shivering bad.
"You're dying," I told him, wrapping my hand around his throat again. "Now, the rock."
"Gail. Gail Keagan," he shivered. "You can't..."
why do they always say that?
I choked him out again, letting him slap and claw at my arm. I would have hurt, maybe, if it wasn't for the denim and the fact that I was beyond feeling pain. Even discomfort from the slush on bare hands just dissolved and poured into the hole inside of me.
I cocked my head, staring at him, as he came back to consciousness, shivering, his face pale and his lips bluish. He was going out, slowly. I was fine with that. No, that isn't right.
I didn't care.
"Who threw it?" I asked him.
"I have a daughter," he gasped.
rats have children too
"Who threw it?" I asked him again.
"Wally. Wally Erickson," He choked, then started coughing.
I walked over and pulled open his back door. The warmth spilled out and over me as I stared inside. I threw the curtain to the side, then turned back.
"No, please," he said as I came back. "Not my daughter. Please."
I grabbed his wet shirt, dragging him into the house. I could see the heroin rig on the coffee table, the whitish gray powder in the baggie. I let him go, letting him fall on the floor, moving over to the table with his phone. I opened the white pages, went through them, memorizing the address real quick.
"You have a daughter," I said, a half question, as I dropped him on the kitchen floor.
He nodded choking.
"If I come back, I kill you in front of her," I told him, staring down at him, putting my hands in my pockets. I put my foot on his wrist. "I till take your syringe and jam the needle through your eye and into your fucking brain. I will then tell her that Daddy was bad. Do you understand?"
He nodded, still gagging.
I turned away, walking outside, taking the time to slide the glass door behind me.
The snow crunched under my boots as I climbed over the fence. The snow danced and swirled around me as I hunched my shoulders and walked through the harvested cornfield. Thunder rolled in the distance as I considered what he said.
Gail had hired them to throw the rock through my window.
Gail had put Aine in the hospital.
I'd visit her after I visited whoever this Wally guy was.
I knew, walking through the dark and snow, that Jack would be on the phone as soon as he was able to. Probably to first warn this Wally guy, then to warn Gail.
It wouldn't help.
Wally was a mile and a half away, through the darkness, but it wasn't anything I hadn't experienced before.
There were no monsters in the dark and cold of Kansas.
I sauntered across the street twice, hands in my pocket, hair plastered to my head by the snow that melted. I didn't bother looking, I knew where I was going. The address was near where the park used to be. By the time I was 10 it wasn't safe to hang out in.
The lights were on in the house I was headed for as I walked down the sidewalk, heading for it. I saw the curtains move twice and knew that Wally was looking out the windows nervously. I walked down the sidewalk, stopping in front of the house and staring.
Two cars, partially taken apart, on the lawn. Moving around to the back I saw that the house bordered the park. There was a car out there too, only this one was not only torn apart, but riddled with bullet holes.
Wally apparently didn't care if his bullets hit where kids played.
I walked up to the glass door and stopped. I reached up, unscrewing the porch light, tossing the bulb into the snow. Thunder rumbled as I faced the door, knocked on it, and stepped to the side.
Another guy. This one pretty good sized, not all scrawny from the drugs suppressing his appetite, with a long reddish beard and long curly reddish blond hair. He looked outside, then shaded his eyes with one hand and pressed his nose to the glass. After a second he opened the glass door.
"Who's out there?" He called out. "I've got a gun!"
I grabbed his hair and dragged him outside. He squawked, sounding like a goose, dropping the rifle as he grabbed at the door to stop himself. I reached across, slamming the glass door as people inside cried out in fear. I took two steps forward, grabbing him and holding onto his collar while I drove two jabs into the base of his skull, stunning him.
I dragged him into the darkness, throwing him over the short fence and jumping over. I put my knee into his back, reaching down to wrap my fingers around his throat, my thumbs against his spine as I started to squeeze.
The door opened behind me.
"Wally! Dude! Answer me!" someone cried out.
I kept squeezing.
"WALLY!" someone screamed.
"Go out there," someone said.
"No fucking way. Wally just got snatched out the door," the first voice said.
"Holy shit, look, he got snatched clean out of his fucking shoes!"
The door slid closed but not before I heard: "Someone call Jack. Who is this asshole?"
I stood up, grabbing Wally by the shirt and dragging him into the park. I was silent as I dragged him through the slush to the merry go round.
I didn't feel anything as I pulled him onto the merry go round, sitting him up. I knelt down, undoing his shoe laces, then moved the merry-go-round so I was behind him. I pulled his hands behind his back, using a lace to tie them behind him, making sure the wet lace bit deep into his skin. The second lace went around his neck, tight enough to keep him in place. I pulled off one of his shoes, then peeled off his sock.
When his eyes opened I was squatting in front of him.
"Hello, Wally," I told him, staring into his eyes.
"Who are you?" He gagged. He shivered, "Man, you better let me..."
I drove my fist into his stomach. He slumped forward, sucking air, trying to get his lungs to work.
"You threw a rock tonight," I said. He looked up and I could see the fear in his eyes. "It hit my fiance in the head," I told him. I shook my head. "So I'm here to kill you."
He opened his mouth and I shoved his sock in it. "There is nothing you can say."
He struggled as I crammed the sock in as deep as I could. He gagged several times until I had it all the way in. I stepped back, looking at him.
"Her name is Hannah," I told him.
I spun in place, my foot lashing out, the heel of my boot hitting his jaw with a crack. He went sideways, held up by the shoelace around his neck. I stood there for a moment, staring at him. His jaw was broken, he was unconscious.
He wouldn't last an hour in the cold.
I put my hands back in my pockets and started walking back to my house.
I wanted something from the house.
Then I'd go and visit Gail.
The thunder rumbled in the clouds as I walked through the harvested corn fields.